Who Will Cry
by Caer
Summary: Pretty angsty for me. Heero goes out into the rain to attempt to recover something he lost. 1+4 implied.


This is 1+4.  It's a bit angsty.  I'm not happy with it, but hey, it's a fic. More are on the way.

Wheeee.

Who Will Cry

By Caer

I can not cry.

The rain pours down in sheets, washing over me like waves rather than raindrops as I sit in the grass, legs spread out and slightly bent so the soles of my feet still touch the ground.  

They didn't ask, when they saw me go out.  Duo looked about to say something, but didn't.  His eyes got that mischeivous light and his mouth opened, but he stopped and simply watched me walk out.  Something in me was thankful that he realized I needed to be alone.  It meant that he saw something in me that wanted to be by myself.  Something… anything gave me hope… not much, but some.

Wufei merely raised an eybrow as he looked up from his book, his brows furrowing at my lack of appropriate clothing.  I wasn't even wearing shoes let alone a jacket as I stepped out into the storm.  Still, his look of concern was fleeting and he simply shrugged and returned to his book.

Trowa watched me with infinite understanding in his eyes.  He knows what it's like to be dead inside, though he is not so much like me anymore.  He was alive enough to escape.  Quatre and Duo saw to that.

Quatre was repairing Sandrock's navigation computer, so he was not there to see me leave.  I was grateful for this.  I wanted to be alone.  Pressing for information right now would only annoy me, and I did not want to be annoyed with Quatre.

I will let the rain cry for me.  I can not.  I am dead inside and out.  I can not laugh, I can not love, I can not joy, I can not cry.

For all that I have done and for all those I have killed and lost, I can not cry, no matter how much I want to.

I sit on the grass in nothing but my black shorts.  I threw off the tank top as soon as I closed the door.  Now the rain pours down on my hair, each blackish strand directing rivulets of fresh water down my face and body.   My toes curl in the wet grass and steam rises up from the warm earth, bringing the smell of life, unlike the sterile smell of the colonies.  They too are dead like I am.  But the earth's rain is full of energy and chaos and unpredictability.  The water is slightly cold and getting colder.   It runs down my forehead and into my eyes again before leaving them to track down my face.

I imagine that the raindrops are my tears and realizemorbidly that the rain would present a more fitting number of tears to pay homage to those I sacrificed for peace.  I can no longer remember how many have died at my hand.   Even if I could cry, would I have enough tears?.

The storm is raging now.  I'm almost having trouble breathing the water is falling so fast.  It's turning to hail and it pelts my bear skin unmercifully.  I welcome it.  I deserve it.  It is a small punishment and I concentrate on the burning feeling delivered by each icy blow, wishing that it could hurt more.  I am so used to pain now that even the physical feeling itself has been numbed.  If nothing else, the scientists were efficient.  

I try to cry.  I think about the deaths.  I think about people I've lost.  I think about  Dr. J.  He's gone now and for a good part of my childhood, he was all I knew.  I think about Odin Lowe.  He was the closest thing I had to a father.  I think about the people he and I killed together.  I think about the first man I killed and try to cry, but I cannot.  Even then, I was unmoved by what I had become.  What could be described as my heart is nothing but an infinite pit of emptiness, like a black hole and that's what it is.  It sucks greedily at the emotions that surround it and even then can not get enough… and it continues to feel empty.

I think about the girl and her dog.  It was my first error where civilians were killed.  She had given me a flower.  When she died, I wanted to cry.  I wanted to cry and I had never wanted anything before that save perfection of my own mind and body.  She was just a little girl.  She would never have her first kiss, or go to her first dance or fall in love.  I did that.  I took all of that away from her and still I couldn't cry.  I carried the dead dog to the woods nearby.  I couldn't find the girl, or I would have taken her.  

I sat down in the middle of a clearing and held the dog.  I held it to my heart and I tried to cry.  I tried to force the tears from my eyes.  I rocked back and forth and pretended that I was sad, thinking over and over again of what a monster I was and what I took away, but no matter how tightly I held the tiny limp and cooling body and no matter how I tried to imagine the girl dying, and how her mother would never know what happened to her if she herself wasn't dead already, I still couldn't do it.  Still nothing… not even the pain one gets in their chest when they are emotionally compromised.  I didn't care that she was dead.  I didn't care that I was a monster, or that I had no emotions.  There was nothing inside of me… nothing.

Then it began to rain.

I was tired.  At first I wanted to give up, put the dog down and just go home, but the rain came fast and hard and as it seeped into my eyes and down to my chin.  It began to wash away the dirt and blood and grease and ash that covered me and as I wiped the sight-hindering water out of my eyes, I froze.  The almost-tears tracked their way down my fingers and I realized that this was the only way I could ever cry.  Something inside me felt a faint murmur of what could only be happiness.  For the first time, the water was washing away more than the physical proof of my crimes.  A glimmer of hope left a tiny suggestion in my mind that if I could do this, if I could let the rain cry for me, it would be like practice.  Maybe I could learn to cry on my own.

So I did.  Anytime I was not on duty and the rain came, I would go out in it and try to cry.  I made it my mission to find the rain any chance I had and let it cleanse me… let it cry for me.  It became the closest thing to a spiritual ritual I had ever practiceed.

But nothing ever happened.  I felt cleaner after the rain, but I never felt anything inside.  I started to hate the rain.  It became more of a mockery than a catharsis.  I went out less and less until finally, the desire was nothing but a murdered memory.

This is my final attempt… a last hope.  If there is nothing as I am sure there will be, I will know that my next battle will be my last… even if we win.  I've died inside and I realize why I have always wanted to die outside.  Once the war ends, I will be nothing.  There will be no need for a soldier and my use will have ended.  I will be alone and unwanted and I cannot even cry for myself.  It doesn't seem to matter.

Suddenly, I hear the screen door bounce shut behind me and up the hill.  I turn around and see Quatre.  He's walking toward me, but stiffly.  His hand is clutched on his shirt over his heart and I jump up.  Has he been shot?  Were we ambushed?  I didn't hear anything.  No, please don't let Quatre and the others die.  I can't cry for them if they do.  I don't want to not be able to cry for them.

But Quatre continues to walk toward me and I see no blood.  As he nears, I notice that he is paler than usual, but the look of pain on his face is not deep.  I can see his shirt through his fingers.  It is already soaked, but no blood runs through.   I look back up and see that his eyes are brimming with water.  His expression is pained.  Is he crying, or is it just the rain?

I remember Duo telling me once that Quatre had a mild heart attack when I nearly died, that he was somehow in tune with me somehow that Duo didn't understand even though Quatre had tried to explain it to him.  I just thought it was bullshit.  Now, I'm not so sure.

He looks at me almost accusingly, the pain in his face apparent.  Is he crying for me?  

I move the couple of feet that separates us and grab his shoulders.  He utters a low, sharp gasp as I pull him close.  He looks into my eyes, then closes his own as I hold his head steady with one hand and run my tongue along his eyes and cheeks before drawing back as if stunned.  I can taste the salt on my tongue.  He is crying.  He looks a little confused, but draws me into a firm embrace, stroking his warm fingers through my sopping hair and pushing my head onto his shoulder.  

He is crying for me.  

I am excited suddenly and I draw him close, pressing his heart to mine, wishing desperately that if I hold him close enough, I will be able to take back the pain he feels for me.  

As I hold him, his knees collapse and we both sink to the ground.  My hold on him is almost violent, but he doesn't seem to mind, though I feel I could crush him if I squeezed any tighter.  He shivers and I draw him down the ground where it's still warm.  He realizes what I'm doing and lays on his back, drawing me onto his chest.  I bury my face in his neck and as our cheeks touch, I can feel the warmth of his tears as they flow over my face.  They run past my mouth and my tongue darts out again to savor the taste.  The tears are warm and salty and Quatre's wet hair smells like lilacs, mixing in with the earthen scent that rises around us.

I feel that same relief I felt the day I buried the dog in the rain.  Only now, I know that I am not dead inside.  I can't be because Quatre can feel my pain even if I cannot.  The rain is just water.  Merely evaporated, condensed again and fallen to earth.  The process is cold and scientific, like me.  The rain does not heed my dulled heart,  but Quatre…  Quatre is a living breathing soul, blessed and cursed with the power to feel the emotions of other people, and he can feel me.  He is living proof that I have not died yet and I finally understand.

From now on, Quatre must be my life, for he is my heart and he cries my tears.  He will cry for me.

And the rain will cleanse us both.

Owari


End file.
